


dinner at eight

by melforbes



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sex Education (TV)
Genre: Crack Crossover, LISTEN IF SOMEONE IS GOING TO WRITE THIS ITS GONNA BE ME, am i joking or not?, who knows!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melforbes/pseuds/melforbes
Summary: A surprise visit from Jean's sister turns into a strange and uncomfortable dinner.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter, Jean Milburn/Jakob Nyman
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	dinner at eight

**Author's Note:**

> [this was not my idea](https://ray-days.tumblr.com/post/190486289449/watching-sex-education-aand-here-goes-otis-in), but the mess i've made of it is entirely my fault. is this a joke? who knows. and also [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xx5IUyg9whQ) is required listening material for proper atmospheric ambience. okay thanks bye

“Mum?”

As usual, the front door was unlocked; Otis took off his coat and hung it up on the peg next to his mother’s. However, there was one spare coat in the entryway, a bright red one tailored to perfection, and beneath it on the floor sat a pair of fine leather boots, city boots, not the kind for trekking through the snow outside. He took off his muck boots and left them far away from the nice leather ones, hoping not to drip any melted snow on what their guest had worn.

“Mum?” he called into the house. It was too late for her to have clients, and the kitchen lights were on, so had she invited a friend over for dinner? His mother didn’t have many friends. “Mum? Is someone here?”

But when he came into the kitchen, he found that his mother hadn’t invited a guest, hadn’t kept a client late; no, as he entered the kitchen, he watched as his mother and another similar-looking woman turned around, the two resembling each other so closely but looking like examples in a child’s book of opposites. On the left stood his mother, holding a half-empty wine glass and tilting her chin up, her bright orange palazzo pants touching the floor since she’d taken her heels off, her slouchy red sweater almost falling off of one of her shoulders, her gold earrings shimmering; on the right stood his aunt, who had left the United Kingdom in order to attend an American medical school, whose dark blue wrap dress was improper for the weather and whose hair had been curled to perfection, whose hand held a wine glass she seemed to have just been emptied. Apparently, Aunt Bedelia had come to town. He wondered why his mother hadn’t told him his aunt would be coming.

“Otis! Darling!” his mother said, sounding unnerved. Though Aunt Bedelia rarely came to town, he had seen her in this house enough times to know that her presence made his mother hum with anxiety. “Your aunt’s come for dinner.”

His aunt gave a strange half-smile that made him uncomfortable.

“I brought you a gift,” his aunt said, then nodded toward the staircase. “Something from Italy.”

His aunt stood with a confidence and poise that made her seem as if she owned the whole house, and also the whole country. If he recognized it correctly, the Cartier bracelet on her wrist cost ten thousand pounds.

“Thanks,” he said, then took his cue to head upstairs. 

Why had his aunt come to town? Had she been in Italy beforehand? Maybe she had a long layover before she flew home, but then again, Wales was far from the major airports. Why had she brought him a gift? As he headed into his room, shut the door behind him, he found a little wrapped package at the foot of his bed, brown paper with a gold ribbon tied on top. He sat down, peeled open the package, and inside, he found an amber-colored Florentine leather wallet, his initials monogrammed on its front. His eyes widening, he realized what brand this was, one he doubted he would ever be able to afford on his own. He would have to thank her profusely for such a nice gift, but he would leave out that this wallet would be replacing the Tokyo Mew Mew wallet Eric had bought him as a joke but that he’d used ever since, even though he’d worn holes in it.

Suddenly, his door burst open, and he jumped a little, stared incredulously at the strange man who’d entered.

“My greatest apologies,” the man said. He was wearing a wine-colored paisley tie that significantly clashed with his navy blue shirt and pinstripe suit. His hair looked greasy, and Otis couldn’t tell if that grease was from a high-end product or not. “I assumed this would be the bathroom.”

Otis sighed, said, “Not the bathroom.”

The man smiled as if he were thinking ill thoughts of Otis. When Otis looked down at the man’s hands, he stared momentarily at the red spatters covering the man’s fingers.

“Where is the bathroom, then?” the man asked all too politely. 

“Is that blood?” Otis asked. “On your hands.”

The man laughed humorlessly, held up his hands as if surrendering to arrest. 

“A fine, rare concoction of cold-pressed oils,” the man said. “I use this blend as a lotion. Winter has a way of drying out the skin. Tell me, do you also feel fragmented in winter?”

Otis furrowed his brow.

“I mean, my feet get cold sometimes,” he said.

The man smiled.

“In this way, we are alike,” he said. “Where is your bathroom?”

“On the left.”

The man nodded to Otis, almost bowed.

“Thank you,” he said, then closed the door behind him.

Had this man come with Aunt Bedelia? They had a similar look, as if they’d both been members of the same yacht club. Otis headed back downstairs, meeting up with his mother in the living room while in the kitchen Aunt Bedelia found a cutting board, the knives, and the sharpener they rarely used. While his aunt started sharpening knives, Otis tugged Jean over to the couch, out of earshot of his aunt.

“What’s she doing here?” Otis whispered to his mother. “You didn’t tell me she would be coming for dinner. And who was that man upstairs?”

Jean sighed, making little fists with her hands.

“Her arrival,” Jean gave, “was not announced beforehand.”

“And the other guy?” Otis was starting to sound shrill. “Was that blood on his hands?”

“Her boyfriend,” Jean said. “He asked if we had any manchego, but I didn’t know what that was.”

“Are they cooking for us?” Otis asked. “That’s a bit weird for a guest to do.”

Then, the front door opened again, making Jean wince.

“Jean?” Jakob shouted from the front door. “I have macaroni!”

Jean closed her eyes in annoyance. When Otis left school for the day, he hadn’t expected to come home to this mess of adults. He should text Eric. No, he should help his aunt as she expertly chopped garlic. No, his aunt’s boyfriend had come back into the kitchen, and now, the man was kissing his aunt on the lips, _ew_ , they looked like a poster couple for a mortician convention. Oh, now they were making out, _actually_ making out, bodies together, his hands on her waist and her arms wrapping around his neck. Jakob came into the kitchen and stopped short, then looked to the living room and found Jean and Otis looking harrowed.

“What’s going on?” Jakob asked, a La Creuset dish in his arms. A couple nights ago, Jean had requested macaroni and cheese for the weekly Friday night dinner they shared, but Aunt Bedelia and her boyfriend had other plans.

Then, Aunt Bedelia and her boyfriend unpeeled themselves from each other’s bodies, turned to Jakob and gave icy glares. Jean scurried back into the kitchen, Otis following at her heels.

“Jakob!” she said, then reached out to take the macaroni dish and headed toward the refrigerator. “This is my sister, Bedelia, and her boyfriend…”

When Jean struggled to open the fridge door, Jakob opened it for her, and inside of the fridge were paper-wrapped butcher packages, a glass bowl filled with washed mushrooms, and a few exotic cheeses. Jean wedged the macaroni and cheese next to a paper package with _rabbit_ inscribed on the front.

Aunt Bedelia’s boyfriend walked toward Jakob and held out a now-clean hand, gave the fellow man a smile.

“Hannibal Lecter,” he introduced. Jakob took his hand and shook with disdain. “And this is my partner, Bedelia.”

Aunt Bedelia didn’t hold out a hand to shake. 

“Jean’s sister,” Jakob said, nodding and offering a fake smile. “I did not know Jean had a sister.”

Jean brought her hands together.

“Well!” she said, smiling a little too widely. “We’re all learning new things tonight.”

She reached out and touched the small of Jakob’s back, trying to console him.

“My sister and her _partner,_ ” Jean said, making sure everyone noticed she had switched to the proper term, “would like to make dinner tonight.”

Jakob held the same false smile.

“No macaroni,” he said.

“No macaroni,” Jean confirmed.

An awkward silence followed, during which all of the adults in the kitchen stared at each other, Jakob looking quietly enraged with Hannibal, Bedelia and Jean exchanging looks of contempt.

“Oh!” Otis interjected. “Mum, Aunt Bedelia gave me a wallet. It’s very nice.”

He dramatically turned to his aunt.

“Thanks, Aunt Bedelia!” he choked out.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

“Higher education is a stimulant for the senses,” Hannibal said as the rest of the group sat at the dinner table; he served each of them rabbit with mushrooms and sliced exotic cheeses. “It acts as a catalyst for greater mental change, forcing a higher rate of thoughts through the mind. Tell me, Otis, have you thought of which academic pill you would like to take?”

Otis swallowed awkwardly as he looked down at his plate. He didn’t want to eat rabbit.

“Well,” Otis managed, picking up his fork and knife and hoping he could push the meat around his plate without anyone noticing he hadn’t taken a bite, “I think I want to study psychology.”

Hannibal quirked a lip.

“Another psychiatrist in the family,” he said. “One of very many. An admirable profession.”

Jean held up both hands, said, “I’m a sex and relationship therapist, not a psychiatrist.”

“A doctor of psychology,” Hannibal said, smiling genuinely as he sat down with his own plate. “My mistake.”

The four adults and Otis stared down at their plates. While Aunt Bedelia and Hannibal cooked, Jakob had been silently banned from the kitchen, stuck in the living room with Jean and Otis while the guests made their own dinner. Otis sat alongside them on the couch and wondered what exactly they all should be doing in the meantime. Otis had decided to text Eric, and the conversation had been brief, the vibrations of his cell phone making him jump.

_**ERIC:** So wait let me get this straight...your aunt is richer and hotter than your mum and she has this weird af boyfriend who’s wearing a tie? And they just came from vacationing in Italy I’m. _

_**OTIS:** Eric this is serious I am a little bit scared _

_**OTIS:** I think he had blood on his hands but he said it was lotion and it was kind of odd _

_**ERIC:** BLOOD????????????????? _

_**ERIC:** Oh my god I kind of love them _

_**ERIC:** They’re like some weird bloody straight rich dream team _

_**ERIC:** Can they pay my uni fees _

_**OTIS:** You are completely missing the point _

_**ERIC:** Can you pleaseeeeee for the love of all things good send me a picture _

_**OTIS:** I can’t, they’ll catch me. And they’re facing away from me _

_**ERIC:** Boiiiiiiiii FACEBOOK. Come on now… _

He hadn’t been able to remember if Aunt Bedelia had a FaceBook account, and even if she did, he couldn’t remember his mother’s previous last name. It was something French. Dubois? Something like that. When he did a google search for Bedelia Dubois, the first result was something related to one of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s most wanted criminals, so it must not have been Dubois.

_**OTIS:** Don’t think she has a facebook _

_**ERIC:** BRUHHHHHHHHHHHH _

_**OTIS:** But like _

_**OTIS:** She’s literally just my mum but with longer hair and fingernails and a kind of threatening demeanor _

_**ERIC:** Oh she must be SO hot _

_**OTIS:** ERIC!!!!!!! _

_**ERIC:** AM I WRONG??????? _

As the adults began eating, he could hear his phone buzzing in the living room, probably Eric wanting to know more about the dinner. Then again, what could he tell Eric, other than that his makeshift uncle spoke in riddles and that his aunt switched hands when she ate, the same way his half-American father did? Tonight was not a good night.

Hannibal spoke up again, and Otis wondered if this time he would be asked about whether or not his soul had withered as sixth form wore on.

“Bedelia tells me that as girls you traveled to Italy,” Hannibal said, looking to Jean. “We have been staying in Florence, where I took a teaching position.”

“A teaching position,” Jean said, nodding. Otis grimaced when he noticed that she too was pushing the rabbit around her plate, not wishing to eat it. In contrast, Jakob ate so quickly that Otis wondered if he might make himself sick. “How wonderful. What do you teach?”

“Literature,” Hannibal said, though the look on Aunt Bedelia’s face made Otis think Hannibal meant to hide a greater project. “Have you ever taught, Jean?”

Nodding toward Jakob, Jean said, “Jakob teaches woodworking classes at the local library. He made the cutting boards you used.”

“Really?” Hannibal beamed. “That wood is of the highest quality. I’d like to think that the trees from which we make fine art have their deepest emotions reflected in the final product. Tell me, Jakob, what emotions do you see in those cutting boards?”

“Yes,” Jakob said with a forced smile, then shoved more of his dinner into his mouth.

“Thanks again for the wallet, Aunt Bedelia,” Otis said, then winced as he heard his phone vibrating yet again in the other room. “It’s really beautiful. You know, my old wallet had manga characters on it, and-”

“Otis,” Jean said, tone quiet, “your phone keeps ringing. It might be important.”

Oh. She was giving him an out. Oh, thank goodness. 

“ _Yes,_ ” Otis emphasized, “my phone, which is ringing, might be ringing about something important. You are correct, Mum.”

“I think it would be appropriate for you to answer the call,” Jean said, nodding emphatically to him. “Is that alright with everyone else?” 

Aunt Bedelia gave a tight-lipped smile and said, “Yes, it is alright.”

So Otis stood and picked his phone up in the living room, then ducked into his mother’s office and closed the door, gave himself some privacy. Instead of looking at all of Eric’s texts, he called Eric instead, waited for his friend to pick up.

“Otis, man!” Eric said loudly as he picked up. “Give me updates.”

“There’s nothing to update on, Eric,” Otis huffed. “Please stop texting me. You’re interrupting dinner.”

“What are you having for dinner?” Eric asked excitedly. “Caviar? I don’t know any other rich people foods.”

“Rabbit and mushrooms and cheese,” Otis gave. And wine, which Aunt Bedelia, Otis’s mother, and Jakob each had had at least three glasses of. “It’s...alright.”

“Do you even eat rabbit?”

“I’ve been avoiding it, just a little. Jakob’s eating it.”

“Oh, get out,” Eric said. “Your mum’s boyfriend is there too? This just keeps getting better.”

“Okay, I’m going to go now,” Otis said, “and I’m turning my phone off.”

“ _Otis-_ ”

He hung up, then switched his phone off, then left the phone on his mother’s desk. Returning to the table, he found that his mother had hardly touched her rabbit while Jakob had cleaned his plate. Aunt Bedelia had taken another glass of wine, and someone had put on classical music. He could not remember a time when his house had felt tenser than it did now.

“Something about work?” Jean asked Otis as he rejoined the table, even though they both knew he didn’t have a job.

“Yes,” Otis said, going along with it. “Shift change.”

“Good to know.”

“Otis,” Aunt Bedelia said from across the table, “do you remember when I last came to visit? You were very little.”

He had been ten.

“Yes, I do,” he gave. “You took me to the ice cream cart in the village.”

To his surprise, his aunt genuinely smiled at the comment.

“Your mother took a picture of you and I together,” his aunt said. “I remember the Polaroid camera. Do you still have that picture somewhere? I’ve always wished I had a copy.”

He could remember that picture exactly, one of him and his aunt sitting on a stone wall and each eating pistachio ice cream in a cone. Back then, his friends had thought he was weird for liking ice cream of such a strange color, everyone else opting for chocolate or vanilla instead, but his aunt nudged him after he ordered and said _that’s my favorite flavor too._

“I think we still have it,” Otis said, nodding to Jean. “In a shoebox somewhere, I think.”

“I can find it for you after dinner,” Jean said to her sister. “Better in your hands than in a shoebox.”

“Thank you,” Aunt Bedelia said, meaning the statement. “I would like that very much.”

And after dinner, Otis and Jean searched through the boxes in Jean’s bedroom while Jakob occupied the guests - or, rather, stood in awkward silence with them downstairs - and to Otis’ surprise, he didn’t see any pictures of Aunt Bedelia at all. Though he knew she’d moved to the United States long ago, he couldn’t understand why there were so few pictures of his aunt, not even images of her at family functions.

“Do you two not get along?” Otis asked as he closed one shoebox, the Polaroid not in that one. “I feel as if we’re finding pictures of everyone but her.”

Jean swallowed, measured her words.

“We haven’t been friendly for a long time,” Jean gave, ending the explanation there.

“Do Grandma and Grandpa have pictures of her, at least?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jean said, “but then again, all of theirs are probably thirty years old. I’m not sure I could tell you which pictures of theirs from back then are of her and which are of me.”

“You looked that similar?”

Jean nodded.

“We did,” she gave. “Still do, if you look past the hair and clothes and whatnot.”

They eventually found the Polaroid, one inscribed in permanent marker with _BEDELIA AND OTIS_ and the year at the bottom edge. When he handed his aunt the Polaroid after she put on her coat, about to leave for the evening, she beamed at the image.

“You know what’s strange?” Otis said as his aunt took the photo. “I think that’s the only picture we have of you.”

“I’m not surprised,” she gave, sounding indifferent but still smiling down at the photo. Part of him wondered if she’d known that already, and then had wanted to take that last piece of herself from this home, but why? He couldn’t understand why she would want to erase herself from her family. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Jean said in the doorway.

Hannibal too pulled on his coat. In the living room, Jakob sulked while everyone else said goodbye.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Jean,” Hannibal said, his smile now seeming more genuine. “I hope your practice continues to prosper.”

Reaching out, he shook Jean’s hand, and she pretended to look pleased.

“You’re welcome here any time,” Jean said, nodding in affirmation.

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Hannibal said.

Now, his aunt and her strange boyfriend were ready to leave, and though Hannibal opened the front door, Bedelia paused for a moment, then reached out to hug her sister. Awkwardly, Otis stood alongside them in the doorway, and both he and Hannibal stared at the two women, Bedelia’s eyes closing as she held her sister, Jean’s tense arms eventually relaxing around her sister's body.

“Thank you for dinner,” Jean repeated, and then, Bedelia let go.

“You’re welcome,” Bedelia said.

As quickly as they’d arrived, the couple left, headed back up the snowy steps and went toward their rented car. Were they staying in a hotel, or would they fly back to Italy this evening? Otis felt as if the dinner had made him ask many questions and not receive any answers. In the doorway, he stood with his mother while they both listened to the couple’s car start, then head away from the house.

“That was odd,” Otis said.

His mother nodded. “Very.”

When they both walked back toward the living room, they found Jakob in the kitchen. He took off his oven mitts and smiled at them both.

“Macaroni is in the oven,” he said, “in case you’re still hungry.”

Jean sighed with relief.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “Their portions were _so_ small.”

“I _really_ don’t like rabbit,” Otis added.

Finally, life was returning to normal.


End file.
